


Lingering in the Sun

by ObsidianMichi



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2764409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianMichi/pseuds/ObsidianMichi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abelas comes to Skyhold in search of Lavellan to build a better future for their respective peoples. Solas searches the Fade, but cannot help avoiding Lavellan’s presence in the dreams of others. She finally finds him in a memory of her visit to Wycome for a reckoning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lingering in the Sun

**Fiction:** Dragon Age: Inquisition  
 **Pairing:** Solas x F!Lavellan, mild Abelas x F!Lavellan  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Warning:** Mild Language. Some Swearing. Takes place post-game. Spoilers.  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any the Dragon Age setting or any character here, I don't even really get to claim my Lavellan. They all belong to Bioware.

Eirwen Lavellan found him standing on her balcony. Alone with gloved hands braced against the stone, he leaned over the railing and watched as the red sun crested against a jagged white-silver horizon. His back tall and straight, sunlight glinting off bronze shoulder guards over a long gray coat. His frame was smaller than a human’s but broader than the average elven male. His head hidden beneath a great hood. She recognized the profile from her time in the Arbor Wilds and their last conversation at the Well of Sorrows. This was not the man she’d hoped to see in her bedroom, the one she dreamt of each night.  
  
He shifted, one ankle hooked behind the other, into a position that suggested wistfulness over a lost memory.  
  
“Abelas.”  
  
She walked forward, crossing the room past her desk to pause at the door. She had not seen him since their adventure at the lost Temple of Mythal, before the defeat of Corypheus. Leliana’s spies had offered not a peep about where the ancient elvhen discovered had gone when they declared their service to Mythal ended. No sign. Yet here he was. A ghost out of memories she wished she could forget. “What are you doing here? How did you get past the guards?”  
  
His head moved beneath the cowl at the sound of her voice, his face still hidden. One hand moved against the stone, sliding across smooth granite. Then, he turned. Golden eyes caught in the reddened light of sunrise. Wide and sad beneath the heavy cowl, they fixed on her face. A face true to his name, the elvish word for sorrow. His eyes widened slightly in recognition, a sign he was aware that she no longer matched his memory.  
  
“This is Tarasyl'an te'las, shemlen,” he said.  
  
Eirwen flinched, crossing her arms over her chest. The slur left his lips as easily as it once had hers. _Shemlen, a quick child, a mortal._ True enough, she supposed. Pursing her lips, Eirwen tried to focus past that on what he had said. _He made it past the guards because it’s… Skyhold. Leliana will be so pleased._ Withholding a sigh, she walked forward to the door’s edge but did not step across the threshold onto the balcony. That’s probably the only answer I’ll get.  
  
“Right,” she muttered. Too many ancient beings lately favored keeping their secrets cryptic. Accept, move on. “Of course.” _He didn’t come all this way just to insult you, Eirwen._ Lifting her chin, she returned to her question. Determining what he wanted was more important than shouting for the guards. “So, why are you here?”  
  
“I came for the answer to a question,” he said.  
  
In her chest, her heart skipped a beat. Her eyes caught on the vallaslin, green lines shaped into beautiful branches coiling up his forehead and curving beneath his eyes tattooed on his skin. The marks of his service to the Elven Goddess Mythal. Hers were missing. He had noticed.  
  
Crossing her arms, Eirwen leaned against the doorframe. “Ask away.”  
  
“You did not drink from the Vir’abelasan,” he said.  
  
Her mouth tucked tight. “That’s a statement, not a question.”  
  
This moment was so familiar. If his face had been bare, if he had only been Solas, this could be a waking dream. Solas. How many nights had she prayed for a moment like this? For him to return, to fulfill the promise he made when he left. To tell her the truth, to finally say goodbye? _He’s never coming back, Eirwen. Accept it._  
  
Abelas crossed his arms. His chin lifted, head tilting as he studied her. “Why?”  
  
Feeling his gaze flicking over her, touching each curve of her now bare face, she pursed her lips. Her eyes dropped, her head turned, and she counted the cuts in the flagstones. “I’ve been asking myself that.” Her mouth pulled to the side, considering. “I don’t think I have an answer, not a good one anyway.”  
  
“You were given a chance to reclaim a piece of what was lost and stepped aside to allow another. One more likely to misuse its wisdom.”  
  
She stepped forward, arms dropping to her sides, hands clenching into fists. “Did you come all this way just to condemn my choice?”  
  
“No,” Abelas replied. He looked away. “I apologize. I meant no offense. I find I am simply curious. In my experience, it is not often a shem…” he paused when she stiffened, the word dying on his tongue. “For anyone to turn away from power.”  
  
“It wasn’t an easy decision, Abelas.” Crossing her arms, Eirwen met his golden gaze. “I thought it over.” She studied him. The harsh jagged edges of his cheek bones, the high planes of his forehead, the sharp nose, the lips perpetually downturned in irritation.  
His eyes though, they were soft. The curves and corners around them filled with sad lines. “I could have taken it,” she said. “No one could have stopped me. Not Morrigan. Not Solas. In the end, I decided it wasn’t worth the price.”  
  
“The knowledge was all that we were and are, all you have lost,” Abelas said. “You could have used it.”  
  
“Drinking from the well, I’d be bound to Mythal and more importantly the past.” She touched her cheek, one finger tracing the lines where her vallaslin had once been. Removing it… it had been a mistake. One she’d only realized mattered when it was gone. _I was ashamed and afraid when I allowed Solas to take a part of myself._ What the vallaslin had represented to him, what it represented to Abelas, it did not have that meaning for her. _We are the last of the elvhen, never again shall we submit._ She had submitted to another’s view of what she should be, how she should look. _Never again._ “We’ll never recover what was lost, never be who we were. I think I realized it was time to move forward.”  
  
“Surprisingly wise for a...”  
  
“Don’t,” she snapped.  
  
Abelas smiled, lips curving slightly at the corners of his mouth. “I should not be surprised,” he said. “At the Vir’abelasan you agreed with me, believed it was a knowledge no one should possess.” His leonine eyes slid over her face, glinting from the candlelight as the red sun rose above the Frostbacks. “You were desperate, faced with an implacable foe you knew not how to defeat. Yet,” he sighed. “You did not act rashly. You showed respect to Mythal.” His head lifted, his gaze fixed on her. “I could not deny the righteousness in you then as I cannot deny it now. Your words shamed me. They have stayed as I traveled this world to find the other elvhen.” Abelas sighed. “When I did, I discovered them to be the same as us. Locked away from the world, carrying themselves on a path of endless duty as outside our culture crumbles. They have left those who should be our brothers to languish in ignorance, misery, and slavery.”  
  
Slowly, Eirwen felt her chest expand and her breath filling it.  
  
“You… have impressed me,” he said.  
  
“Impressed you?” Eirwen blinked.  
  
“When we spoke, you were correct. The elves of this world may only be shadows, flitting in the forests or living in subjugation under shemlen rule, barely more than human. They may not be what they were once but they do not deserve to be forgotten.”  
A lump stuck in her throat. Standing with him here felt strange, strange as when Solas had told her that she was not what he had imagined. It had been on this balcony, before their kiss, when he asked if the Anchor had changed her. “I’m only doing what I can, Abelas.”  
  
Abelas chuckled. His laughter was a warm sound, deep and guttural, rumbling in his throat. “Perhaps,” he murmured. “This is what he saw.”  
  
“So,” she said slowly. “This is about Solas.”  
  
“No,” he said. “Like your Dalish, we sought to preserve what we could from devastation and in the end we lost sight of everything that mattered. The People. You.” He stared at her speculatively. “You are not one of the Elvhen, but you could be. You are owed the truth, Lethallan. I did not come seeking another forgotten remnant of a past long lost, I came for a future.”  
  
Eirwen blinked. Lethallan meant kin. She remembered when Solas had spoken to Abelas at the Well. _There is a place for you, Lethallin._ Abelas had responded, _Elvhen such as you?_ Here Abelas was on her balcony, calling her his kin. A pang shuddered through her, the iron clad hand around her heart twisting viciously in a tight squeeze. Reminding me, everything Solas never said, everything he knew, everything he hid. “Ma serannas, Abelas,” she whispered.  
  
“There is no need,” he replied. “I blamed you for your ignorance when the fault was mine. You showed me I was in error. It is I who should be thanking you.”  
She sucked in another breath and suppressed the shiver racing across her skin. “We can’t go back.”  
  
“No,” he agreed. “Arlathan is gone.”  
  
“But,” she said. “We can go forward. There must be a way to reconcile what we lost with where we are now. With our future.”  
  
A smile touched his mouth, pulling upward into a brilliant grin. Sad lines melted away. Behind him, the red sun glowed and cast a red-pink glow across mountains covered in white snow. “Your… friend, he encouraged me to seek out a new name.” Abelas stepped forward. “If you will have me, I would like to look for it here. I have little to offer, but…” he trailed off as he extended his hand, “I shall be honored to try.”  
  
“What about the quickening?” she asked. “You could lose your immortality.”  
  
Abelas tilted his head. “Mythal endures,” he said. “And even so, if I do, what is it to be immortal when I have no hope left? My sacrifice is worth the risk, Lethallan, for there are other duties. If I must linger, I would rather it be in the sun.”  
Reaching out, Eirwen took his hand and gripped it tight. “I’d like that.”  
  
“Perhaps,” Abelas said. “We will find a way to bring what remains of both our peoples out of the dark.”  
  
She felt his hand squeeze hers and a wide smile broke across her face. Here in this moment, the world was warm and real. For the first time since Solas had departed, she felt the first stirrings of hope. A new mission, a reason to continue on and keep the Inquisition going. No reason to give up and just go home.  
  
“So long as we keep trying, Abelas, we will.”

***

She had not come to find him. Had not searched. Solas felt the bitter taste of regret on his tongue. That was what he wanted, was it not? For his vhenan to stay away so that she might move on, might make a life, find a new love and leave him free to do what he must before his actions tore down whatever she built.  
  
Yes.  
  
He wanted that.  
  
And yet here he was, miserable in the aftermath. Even the Fade no longer brought him the comfort it once did. Dreams that had allowed him to escape from the terrors of the world he’d woken up to were now filled with the Inquisition’s shadow. Spirits flocked to him, drawn by painful feelings he could not quite suppress. The places he wandered, every villager’s dream seemed to revolve around Lavellan. A different version, a different vision, their own view on who she could be.  
  
Sometimes, he laughed at their crude structures. Sometimes, he cried because the imagined image was too close to the reality.  
  
Everywhere he went, she was there. He could not escape her. The taste of her on his lips. The smell of her perfume coiled around him still. From his dreams he awoke aching, hands clenched in desperate yearning, his heart pounding in his chest.  
  
 _Sooner or later, I will learn it is pointless to try._  
  
Today, he found himself striding through the gates of Wycome, the Marcher City currently ruled by Clan Lavellan. Towering doors thrown open as the sound of beating drums and lutes echoed from within. He moved within the throng, a simple traveler walking beside countless merchants and travelers trotting into the city. Birds soared overhead, beautiful white doves tossed high in celebration. Sprays of lights, blue, red, green, cast by the city’s Circle mages danced in the blue sky overhead. The air crackling with the power. He entered a world of laughter and music, children both elf and human brushing past his legs as they raced off toward the city center.  
  
Wycome was a smaller city than Val Royeaux, but larger than Skyhold. At one time, he realized it may have been broken into distinct sections that separated the people by wealth and by class. As he allowed the crowd of dreams and memories to carry him, a fish swiftly moving upriver, he realized they were all making their way toward what had once been the city’s elven alienage.  
  
“The Inquisitor is victorious! Corypheus is dead!” The crier chanted as he passed. “Corypheus is dead! The Breach is closed! Blessings upon the Herald!”  
  
He slid away when he came to the bazaar and picked up a small cake from the stand, he made a gesture of money though in the Fade there was none to leave.  
  
“A cake, sir? A cake for you?” The baker leaned forward. “Specially made? Perhaps one with the face of our savior?”  
  
Solas snorted. He imagined Eirwen beside him cloaked as she often was when she wanted to be out in public but hidden from the crowds. Her hand tethered to his, her nose wrinkling at the idea of anyone much less a baker shaping a cake to her facial features. Burying her face in his shoulder as they walked away to hide her laugh, golden sunlight glinting off her short cut orange hair. _Ah, vhenan, how strange you would find this._  
  
Breaking off a piece of cake, he stuffed it into his mouth. Fade cakes were only a memory of the reality, but sweet sugar melted on his tongue and he swallowed.  
  
 _How she must hate you now, fool boy._ The words cut through his mind. Bitter laughter followed. _You who walked away, crushed her heart, and left her only with a betrayal and a reason to hate._  
  
“Blessings to Clan Lavellan! Long live the Herald!”  
  
His eyes fell and the memory faded. He hurled the cake to the ground.  
  
He had no business being here. This was a day of celebration, filled with praises sung to the Inquisition and its Herald. Their liberator from the clutches of the Red Templars, who had remade the city into a merchant’s haven and the city leadership made up of the city’s merchants, the Alienage’s Hahren, and assisted by the Keeper Istimaethoriel.  
  
Inquisition soldiers packed the streets, aiding the city guard in keeping order.  
  
Some wore their usual gear and moved as they might have on any other day, others were in their formal dress. Their chests puffed, their marching crisp as children cut past them. Many colored streamers flew from their hands as they danced and laughed. The pounding of drums following them as they made their way down the great central street through the city. Onlookers clapped. Banners flew overhead, marked with the Inquisition’s Great Eye. All of it, part of a parade. This was not just any celebration, he realized. She is here. A memory of her, anyway. A fragment left behind by her passing. The impression she’d ingrained in the city stones, in the people’s eyes. From the joy suffusing this dream, her visit had been positive. Filled with light.  
  
Leaning on his staff, Solas allowed a small smile to curl on his lips. He had stumbled across the memory of Eirwen Lavellan’s homecoming.  
  
“The Herald!” shouted a man beside him.  
  
“To the square!”  
  
“She’s coming!”  
  
“The Herald! The Herald!”  
  
Emotion boiled inside him. Warm sharp pain, harsh as a knife cut across his palm. The memory of her in the moments before he’d pulled away. Her bare face, blue eyes shining in the moon’s clear light. Full of trust and love, a trust he’d betrayed. Solas knew he should have turned away, exited the dream. Woken up. A wise man would have. Instead, like a man possessed he followed the crowd. Taking one moment to bask in a true memory of her presence instead of the others’ dreams of who she should be.  
  
 _What harm could there be?_  
  
 _What harm indeed._  
  
He sighed.  
  
An elven woman ran past him, hiking her skirts high. Thick red hair streaming behind her. He saw her dress mirrored a city elf, but the vallaslin suggested a past history among the Dalish.  
  
Solas found himself hurrying after. Feet beating against the stones, chasing a memory that toyed at his. Thoughts tumbled through his mind as he ran. Who had come with her? Some of his former companions must have, they could not all have returned to their duties. From what he’d heard, Cassandra had become Divine. She would not be present. Cullen must have come, he had always taken it upon himself to be in attendance when the Herald formally greeted the people. Leliana may have been around somewhere, but Solas knew he would not catch sight of her. Josephine, perhaps, to engage in whatever diplomatic relations were being held between the Inquisition and Wycome. Who else? Varric? The Iron Bull? The First Enchanter? Sera? Dorian? Perhaps not Cole, he might have been troubled by the city or by now he might have returned to the Fade.  
  
As he drew closer, he could not think. His feet hit dusty steps, the crowd behind him propelling him forward. Until he walked into the alienage and his breath caught in his throat.  
  
 _It has changed._  
  
When Solas had first awoken to the world, he had wandered in places like this. Among the hovels in which modern elves now lived, places of intense poverty generating only misery and despair. They were dark places in the Fade, twisted. Any who trespassed too long drew the attention of nearby demons come to feed.  
  
Here, the alienage was bright and filled with green glinting sunlight. Buildings that only a few years ago would have been run down, cracked, and leaking had been rebuilt. The walls were clean, fresh, and new. The homes packed in tightly had been spread out. The refuse cleaned and taken away. Well-decked merchant stalls suggested new wealth had found its way into the corner of Wycome. A Dalish aravel stood on the far side of the square, next to a corral where a single halla rested in a pen. A gift, he supposed, from Clan Lavellan to symbolize their connection to the elves of the city. Banners of the Inquisition and some carrying Dalish insignia were hanging from gray-brown walls, high above he caught glimpses of ravens resting near rookeries.  
  
A hastily erected wooden scaffold had been built in the center square next to the venadahl, obviously for this occasion and decked in finery as great as the local elves could manage. Ribbons of green and black hung from the railings. There were yet more banners of the Inquisition, Wycome’s heraldry, and a white halla on a green field.  
  
“The Herald! Andraste’s Herald!”  
  
The elderly woman he had been chasing slowed and came to a stop. The crowd pressed in around her and Solas felt himself thrown forward. She was close enough to look, but lingered on the edge. Not so close that she might be recognized when Lavellan’s gaze searched the crowd. From her posture, he could tell the woman’s gaze was hungry. Desperate for a glimpse of the Wycome’s hero.  
  
 _Perhaps that is why I am drawn to her,_ he thought. They both chased a figment. Though, he could not tell why she did so. Many wanted to lay eyes on Lavellan, but few wanted to so badly their very fragments in the Fade were filled with frantic yearning.  
  
Like his.  
  
 _Ma vhenan’ara, what have you done to me?_ It was not supposed to be like this. If he had known, he might have never walked away. Sure of myself as always, to do what I must. He had made the necessary sacrifice. Necessary, even if he still sought her in the Fade, determinedly running in the direction he could not go. Unable to release the memories of those happier days within his study at Tarasyl'an te'las. When he had been hers and she had been his. When she wrapped him up in her arms. When he held her tight in a desperate embrace, clinging on as if every breathless kiss could be their last. She was the one voice he could not turn away, could never deny, even as his terror over her eventual discovery of the truth remained a hollow cry inside him. She will never forgive me.  
  
 _Fool boy,_ Mythal’s voice spat. _You did not truly believe a creature tied so firmly to this world could ever belong to you._  
  
A cheer rose from the crowd.  
  
His head jerked up, fingers tight on his staff.  
  
Figures stepped onto the dais. The first three he did not recognize, a human man, an elf dressed like others in the city, and then a white haired elven woman dressed like a Keeper. She gripped her staff in one hand as she made her way across the scaffold. Wycome’s ruling council, he realized. Behind them, striding up in the official red uniform he’d worn to the ball, the Commander of the Inquisition’s armies appeared.  
  
Another cry rose up for him. Unsurprisingly, Cullen was a hero to these people.  
  
Then, a grinning Josephine appeared. She came to a stop beside Cullen and the Ruling Council. There were fewer cries for her.  
  
A tall elf followed, one taller and broader than any modern elf. Long steps carrying him forward quickly, every step agonized as if he hoped to get this done as quickly as possible. Male, he was swathed in a great cloak with his face hidden beneath an oversized hood. Solas’ breath caught in his throat, recognizing the familiar bronze armor.  
  
 _Abelas! No! It cannot be._  
  
He did not have time to consider.  
  
The Inquisitor stepped onto the platform and Solas’ surprise fled.  
  
If there had been cries before, they were nothing by comparison. The screams of the crowd swelled, screaming out her name. Chanting it like a prayer. A whisper on the tongue. Spoken with a reverence he should hate and despise, yet could not.  
  
“The Herald! The Herald!”  
  
A strange warmth rose from his stomach, a rapidly escalating heartbeat slamming in his chest. He clutched his staff.  
  
Eirwen Lavellan carried herself proudly, dressed in the Keeper armor she had worn to her final battle with Corypheus. She walked to the railing with delicate steps. Her bare face glowed in the sun, a small smile tucked into the corner of her mouth. A sign she barely held back her laughter. She walked past the tall elf and, for a moment, her fingertips trailed across his upper arm.  
  
Solas felt his stomach twinge.  
  
“Eirwen Lavellan!”  
  
“Hero of Haven! Andraste’s Chosen! Smiter of the Elder One!”  
  
If he noticed, Abelas gave no sign. Solas did not doubt he had.  
  
“Lavellan! Lavallan!”  
  
“For Clan Lavellan!”  
  
Eirwen came to a stop at the edge of the bannister. Her fist rising, triumphantly punching the air above her head.  
  
The crowd answered her. Hands rising around him in a prayer he barely understood. He felt the swell of emotion, a rising current, the burgeoning feeling of love. Solas felt it all sweep through him, his breath catching in his throat, and tightened his arms at his side. A smile brushed against his mouth.  
  
“Lavellan! Lavellan! Lavellan!”  
  
“My people!” she cried. “Today we remember your victory! Two years ago with the aid of the Inquisition, you drove the Red Templars from your homes! Despite your differences in background, be it as elves of the city, elves of the Dales, or human merchants, you recognized a dire threat! You acted! And since, your alliance has thrived! Wycome has prospered beyond all expectations. You have grown to be the envy of Thedas!”  
  
At the front of the crowd, a dwarf shouted, “what of Kirkwall?”  
  
She laughed. “As my friend Varric Tethras would say if he were here, Kirkwall’s backwards ass deep in nug shit!”  
  
The crowd cheered.  
  
“Lavellan!”  
  
“Damn straight!”  
  
“For the Herald!”  
  
“Kirkwall’s a shithole!”  
  
He watched Eirwen suck in another breath, before she continued. “Lethallin, you are the living embodiment of a dream we must continue to strive for. A day when none are limited by virtue of their birth, be they mages, elves, human, or dwarves, but by the future they create with their own two hands.”  
  
Cheers broke through the ranks of the gathering. On the other side of the crowd, a Chantry priestess let out an unladylike whoop.  
  
“It hasn’t always been peaceful,” Eirwen said. “We all remember last autumn’s Festival of Ashes!” She glanced over her shoulder, flashing a charming grin. “I know our beloved Commander certainly does!”  
  
On the dais, Cullen’s cheeks burned red.  
  
Laughter shook through the crowd, followed by a few friendly jeers. All in response to a joke Solas now wished he understood.  
  
“In the days to come, we will continue to fight for our future and continue to shine our light into the darkness. We know the world must change and during these past two years you have proven that it can! We can! All I ask now is that you continue your good work.”  
  
Murmurs of agreement shook around him.  
  
“For you, Herald!”  
  
“In the meantime,” Eirwen called. “I say we crack open the casks and celebrate!”  
  
The crowd roiled as she turned away from the stage to make room for Wycome’s ruling council, laughter, call outs rose in a mixture of voices. The bald merchant with a paunch stepped up behind her, clearly intending to say more but he was silenced by more cries.  
  
“For the Herald!”  
  
“You seeing anyone, Herald?”  
  
“For Clan Lavellan!”  
  
“Marry me!”  
  
 _Ma sa’lath, you hold their hearts in your palm._ Crossing his arms over his staff, Solas leaned back. She had grown so strong, come so far from the inquisitive but damaged girl he’d met at Haven. His gaze followed Eirwen as she made her way to Abelas.  
  
Abelas leaned down, craning over her with his tall frame. She crossed her arms and lifted one hand, tilting slightly toward him. The other elf clearly murmured something into her ear and she laughed, a chuckle hidden behind polite fingertips.  
Solas caught the twitch in Abelas’ lips as warm golden eyes fixed on the top of her head. Saw the man shift a little so they stood closer together, though they did not touch. He recognized that expression of wonder. He’d often worn a similar one.  
Why had Abelas not gone to find the remnants of their people? Why had he gone to Skyhold? The other man had not shown any interest in any of them when they’d met at the Vir’abelasan. At the time, Abelas was ready to lay down his burden. Why is Abelas here? Now? When he had spoken of a place for him, Solas had not meant the Inquisition. Not next to… the Inquisitor.  
  
 _You seek her even now, boy. Is it so strange another would recognize what you did and also give chase?_  
  
Yes, it was strange. He expected those feelings in men like Cullen, Blackwall, or the Iron Bull. Crude, rough emotions incapable of any true delicacy. They lacked the capacity to understand what a rare and marvelous spirit they admired.  
  
Abelas… he was different. For him to return, her condemnation at the Vir’abelasan must have struck deep. Yes, Solas supposed, her condemnation and her desperation. Her desire to improve the lives of all elven people. Even limited as Abelas was… _He is of the Elvhen, he can see her for what she truly is._  
  
Solas swallowed. The thought did not bring him comfort.  
  
 _Of course not, why him and not you? You could love her just as well. Better. He is a limited slave, you are a god._  
  
 _Silence!_  
  
He turned away and the scene changed.  
  
Overhead, the sky was dark and torches were lit. The scaffold had been taken away, the bazaar open, and the flickering tremor of the lute and the pipe danced in the air. Orange lights glimmering against the decorated trunk of the Venadahl, dancers spun around it. A dance far more exuberant and honest than any that might have been allowed at the Winter Palace. Feet both bare and bound scuffled on the dusty ground. Crowns of flowers decorated heads. Behind the dancers, the crowd clapped and stamped to the beat. Laughter cracked through the melody. A man stumbled past him on the way back to the cask, a large mug brimming full of ale already clutched in one meaty hand.  
  
Solas stepped back to allow him to pass, lest he go right through him.  
  
“Herald!” The cry rose up. “Herald! Herald!”  
  
Turning, Solas watched Eirwen make her way down the steps. Each step, careful and delicate, she moved with a grace that left his heart aching. She had abandoned shoes. Her feet were dry and cracked, dusty. Her dress was simple, made of comfortable linen in the green and black colors of the Inquisition. It dropped down only to her knees and left her legs bare. Simple, basic, well-made but less extravagant than many other outfits present.  
  
He smiled, finger trailing the haft of his staff. _I imagine the First Enchanter would have a fit._  
  
She walked like a Dalish, not one properly coiffed for the Orlesian court. A warm smile curved her mouth, blue eyes burning with an inner fire, as some of the crowd pulled away from the dance to race toward her. A string of children, some dirty with scabbed knees and broken teeth, others dressed in velvet and silk. Some human, some elven, some dwarves, and he was surprised to see they were not clearly separated by social class.  
  
She knelt as they crashed into her, screaming, and knocked her to the ground with a laugh.  
  
Solas bit back a smile.  
  
Behind them, some of her escort moved as if to intervene but were waved off. Many of the onlookers stood on the sidelines chuckling and guffawing. Some cheered. Those who were irritated turned away as their Herald went tumbling.  
  
 _She belongs to them now, boy. Carrying a light brighter than any sun._  
  
Eirwen emerged out from under small squirming bodies. Sitting up, as small arms clung about her neck and shoulders, she began to push herself to her feet bringing two of the children up with her. A little red headed human boy and a blonde elven girl, the girl planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek and hugged herself tight around Eirwen’s neck. Leaning forward, she cupped her fingers around a long ear and whispered into it.  
  
Eirwen’s smile widened. She tilted her head and murmured something back, but a head moved between to obscure his view.  
  
Parents approached to claim their wayward children. Solas came with them, reminding himself that he could eavesdrop here without fear. Curiosity compelled him to know what was said and linger near her, even if this was just a faded memory, just a shadow. To take a place where he might have been.  
  
 _In another world…_  
  
A cackle cut through his thoughts. _Abelas doesn’t seem so concerned about other worlds, I believe he is quite focused on the now._  
  
 _Be silent!_  
  
 _Where would the fun in that be, dear boy?_  
  
Passing the children back to their parents, Eirwen turned to her friends.  
  
Sera had appeared at her elbow, crowding in past the rest of the retinue. “What she want?”  
  
Eirwen glanced back. A grin twisted on her lips, her eyes twinkling. “To marry me when she grows up.”  
  
Solas felt a smile yank harder at his mouth.  
  
Sera laughed. “Well, she can get in line then, yeah?” Merrily hooking her arm through Eirwen’s, she leaned against her. “I mean half of Thedas has already got dreams of bedding you.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the rest of the retinue, a wicked grin toying on her lips. “Even if you do only got eyes for elven glory. Ancient elven glory.” The grin widened. “Not a man here who can compete with that.”  
  
“Abelas and I are just friends, Sera.”  
  
“If you say so,” Sera replied. Her tone indicated she was unconvinced. “That half of Thedas who don’t want to bump bits fantasizes about it, believe me. What I hear nine times out of ten: is the Herald and the old elfy elf doin’ it?”  
Eirwen shook her head. “More from your friends?”  
  
“Them too. It’s everyone. Varric’s even got a new serial out starring you two.”  
  
“Ah,” she nodded. “I’d wondered if he’d started up his friend-fiction.”  
  
“Sending it all off to some pirate lady in Antiva. Have to steal it from him if I wanna peek. Not that I do.” Sera glanced at Eirwen, wide blue eyes huge. She knew she was picking at a sensitive subject. “At least he’s better than Solas-butt. Abel-lass only tries to break my head some of the time.”  
  
Eirwen’s hand lifted. Her arm circling Sera’s shoulders, she whipped her in tight and mussed the other girl’s hair.  
  
“Hey!” Sera exclaimed.  
  
Eirwen’s smile was friendly, patient and she planted a chaste kiss on the top of Sera’s head. “You let him try.”  
  
They’ve grown closer. Solas felt a sting pass through his chest and resisted the urge to turn away. He had failed Sera. It is good Abelas found a way to reach her.  
“Only in the practice yard! When he lets me stick him full of pointy bits!”  
  
Eirwen laughed.  
  
“What I mean is, he doesn’t go on and on about how great we used to be. He gets things. He listens.” Sera grinned up at Eirwen slyly. “You should just bump bits, you know. Poor guy could do with having his cork popped every now and again.”  
  
“No more!” Eirwen grinned. “Go on with you.” She gave the other girl a playful shoved. “Get smashed double for me.”  
  
“Will do, yeah! And don’t forget! Save me a dance!”  
  
“I think I can make room on my card.”  
  
“This isn’t the Winter Palace, hey. No need for cards. You don’t have to fill your time dancing with fussy nobles who mean nothin ‘cause someone stupid idiot might get offended.”  
Eirwen chuckled, shaking her head.  
  
Solas walked forward until he stopped beside her. His arms crossed, clung tight against his body, an effort to keep from reaching out and touching her. To keep him from brushing his fingers across her skin, interrupting the memory and inviting some nearby spirit to come taunt him by taking her shape. His eyes scanned her face, bare and warmed by the torchlight. She looked different without the vallaslin, the scar over her left eye was deeper and more prominent. Her eyes larger, but a different shade of blue. He noted a new cut on her chin and a weal on her cheek left from the tip of whip that had only partially healed.  
  
Still, what mattered most had not changed.  
  
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered.  
  
A shadow fell across her back, a large frame moving out of the crowd, then a bronze hand reached out to rest on her shoulder and tore her away.  
  
“Abelas,” she murmured. Her head turned, hand rising to rest over his. She glanced up at him. “What is it?”  
  
“There are some children who require your attention before the night grows old, Lethallan,” he said. “They worried you would not have time for them. I thought perhaps it could be left to da’assan as she is barely more than a child herself, but you are their first choice. The correct one.”  
  
Solas twitched. _Da’assan. Little arrow. He means Sera._ Abelas spent time with Sera by choice! How could the man get through a minute, much less a day without being thoroughly offended by her obstinate unwillingness to learn?  
“Ma serannas, Abelas.”  
  
He bowed stiffly. “I will leave you.”  
  
She grinned. “Or,” she pulled his hand down, binding it tightly in her fingers. “You could come with me. The kids love you.”  
  
His eyes dropped to her hand and his. “There is much left to consider,” Abelas replied. He didn’t pull away. “Your scouts are thorough, but there may be still be holes and that leaves opening’s which dangers could slip through to take your life.”  
“Or yours.” Her eyebrow arched and she tilted her head. “I’m not the only one countless nobles want dead, remember?”  
  
“I have not forgotten. The House of Repose is... intent.”  
  
She laughed. “We’ll deal with them soon enough, my friend.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “Tonight is a celebration and you’ve worked harder than anyone. The Chargers won’t let anyone through.” Reaching around with her other arm, she hooked it through Abelas’ and hugged her body against him. The simple dress pulled tight across her curves.  
  
Solas let out a hiss, breath exiting his lungs quicker than if he’d been hit by a sucker punch.  
  
“Take a break, Lethallin.”  
  
“Your people will talk,” Abelas replied.  
  
“They do already.” She glanced up at him, a teasing smile on her lips. Turquoise eyes glittering in the torchlight. “Varric is writing a serial. I hear it’s a smuttier version of Swords and Shields.”  
  
He cursed. “Is nothing in this strange world of yours sacred?”  
  
Eirwen giggled, her voice pitched high and girlish. She shook her head. Orange bangs flopped across her brow. “Didn’t they have dirty literature in the time of Arlathan?”  
  
“We did,” he said, “but I never thought to find myself the subject of it.”  
  
“Oh, Lethallin,” she laughed. “I’m sure it’s not the first time. With your shoulders and the way your armor clings? Half the courtiers in Halamshiral spend their evenings sighing over you. Even if it was only in the hearts of Mythal’s petitioners, there must have been some pretty young girl crying out for poor Abelas to notice them.”  
  
“I have been the subject of infatuations,” he said. “This is different.”  
  
“This is the same. It’s just a very public crush, Lethallin.”  
  
Abelas shook his head. “If it were not for you fondness of the durgen’len, he would shortly find his head removed from his shoulders.”  
  
“Left on the Skyhold ramparts as a lesson to any who dare make fun of you, I suppose.”  
  
“No.” He gazed down at her, golden eyes full and shining with an emotion Solas did not want to describe. “A warning to any who dared mock _you_.”  
  
She smiled, her gaze dropping. “I think my reputation can take it, Abelas.”  
  
“Then, I am not offended.”  
  
 _How does it feel, boy?_ The words snaked across Solas’ mind. _To see another have the conversations with your beloved that always rested on the tip of your tongue? The ones wriggling in the shadows, just out of reach?_  
  
 _Perhaps, I take comfort in the idea she has found a devoted protector._  
  
 _Not only is he very devoted, I understand he is also quite skilled._  
  
 _You kept him in servitude and darkness for a thousand years!_  
  
 _Yes and you urged him to seek out a new life. You have no one else to blame when he came to take yours._  
  
 _Abelas makes his own life!_  
  
 _Yes. He gave her honesty and in return received everything you wanted, but have it your way, foolish boy. Pretend none of this matters._  
  
 _It matters!_  
  
Silence answered him. Mythal had withdrawn.  
  
When he glanced up the two had moved on. Eirwen half-pulling Abelas away into the crowd, her eyes on the dancers.  
  
He dropped his head, eyes on his hands. The whites of his knuckles showed, nails biting deep into his palms. Letting his fist release, he stared morosely at their retreating backs. There was little point in staying within this dream, continuing to watch this would only hurt and lay salt in a wound yet to close. As if I do not torment myself enough!  
  
Gripping his staff, he turned away. Ready to leave, he found himself face to face with another Eirwen. _No, no, no, no, no._  
  
“It’s odd to find you here,” she said. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” Her head craned up, her beautiful eyes sliding to his face. “Are you going to run from me again, vhenan?”  
  
“No,” he replied slowly. Spirits of Faith often emulated her when he met them in the Fade, drawn by her glow and strength of self. This could be one. He hoped it was. Here and now, with the torrent swirling inside himself, he was not sure he could keep control. Yet, he nearly sighed, Eirwen had a way about her, from the touch of his magic on her hand to the strength of her spirit. Both were nearly impossible to replicate for any denizen of the Fade, not when left under close scrutiny.  
  
“Good,” she said. Her eyes swung away from him to the celebrations. “This time I don’t plan on letting you go until I’ve had my say.”  
  
With her distracted, he could leave.  
  
“I’m sorry, Solas,” Eirwen continued, “but you’re stupid.”  
  
His legs wouldn’t move. One hand drifted helplessly at his side. _It is easy,_ he told himself. _Turn around, walk away._ “I have not often been accused of such,” he replied. “If you have your own interpretation, let us hear it.”  
  
She whipped her arm out, seizing his shoulder. He allowed himself to be pulled down, to face her. Her chin lifted and she shook him. “Fenehdis lasa! Mar solas ena mar din!”  
  
He blinked, she spoke the same words as the demon of terror. _Solas as pride, not calling me by name._ Solas almost wished she had. _Your pride will be your end._ “Even if it will be,” he said stiffly, “it is mine to choose.”  
  
Eyes softening, those lovely irises filled with sorrow. The warm blue of a summer sky darkened by rain. She looked away, corner of her mouth turning down and pulling tight. Her hands dropped away to her sides. “I didn’t come to fight,” she said. Then, her eyes flicked up at him. A tiny sheepish smile touched her lips. “Or maybe I did.”  
  
Solas drew in a deep breath. “It is too painful for us both to continue like this,” he almost said vhenan, catching himself, he added, “Inquisitor. The fault is mine, you are not to blame.”  
  
“There you go again,” she sighed. “Cutting me out. Like I didn’t also participate. Like I didn’t pursue you. You’re always making decisions for yourself, alone.” Her hands tightened to fists, pressing against her thighs. “A relationship is two people, Solas. You don’t control everything. Am I so small minded you believe I couldn’t help you?”  
  
“No!” he exclaimed. Takin another breath, he repeated much more slowly, “no. You are…” You make me doubt my course, vhenan. You insert it where it need not exist. You are temptation. I want to turn away, but the People still need me. Air squeezed from his lungs. His throat tightening, caught in an iron clad grip. His hand rose, hesitant. His fingers touched her cheek, warm skin on skin. She didn’t pull away. “You are everything.”  
  
“Then why?”  
  
“You do not understand!”  
  
“Only because you refuse to explain it to me!”  
  
“You cannot possibly—”  
  
Eyes rolling, Eirwen shook her head. She stepped back. Her warmth leaving him as she moved away. “You and Mythal.” Her eyes narrowed. “Din elvhen emma’him,” she spat.  
  
 _You will never be one of my People._ The same insult he had once flung at Sera.  
  
He felt his shoulders sag. “That is… true, Inquisitor.”  
  
“Sera was right about you,” she said, then she sighed. “Your head really is crammed up a thousand years ago.”  
  
“Is it wrong to want that world, Inquisitor? To wake up to find everything changed! The world…” he trailed off. “You do not know how much has been lost! The People are no better than where they were before! They are worse! What the world is now is not what it should be!”  
  
“Oh!” She laughed. A hard bitter sound, it cut into him. “Of course! It did not turn out the way you wanted so we should throw it all away?” She shook her head. “Ir abelas, _solas_.” She spit his name like a curse, her voice sarcastic. “I’m sorry it is not what you wanted. I’m sorry we destroyed ourselves! I’m sorry this is not what you expected!”  
  
He sucked in another deep breath.  
  
She paused and looked away. Then, she spoke again, in a much softer voice. “As Hawke said, vhenan, that’s the problem with change. Things change.”  
  
“Not always for the better,” he snapped.  
  
“Yes,” she agreed. “And that is why we keep trying with what we have.”  
  
“Arlathan—”  
  
“It’s gone, Solas.”  
  
“It does not have to be!” he yelled. He stepped forward, seizing her, cupping her face in his hands. His shoulders shook. Then, he said more softly. “It doesn’t have to be.”  
  
She placed her hands over his. “Yes, ma sa’lath, it does. The past is like a river, we may cross it many times but it will never be the same one.”  
  
“I suppose that is why Abelas is with you?”  
  
“Abelas and I are the same, vhenan,” she said. “We are united in our desire to help all of the elvhen.”  
  
Solas flinched. She denied him as one of her people, but Abelas stayed. She recognized him. He recalled the image, Eirwen curled close to Abelas’ body, peering up at him through fluttering lashes. A coquettish smile on her lips. “All of the elvhen?” he sneered. “How can you say it when you do not even know what that word means?”  
  
“You also don’t know what it means,” she replied. “You’re so stuck in the past you can’t see the People. Can’t see what’s happening in front of your nose. You’re missing what’s happening now.” She leaned forward. Her breath brushed across his skin. He shivered. “You’re missing what could be.”  
  
“Abelas,” he said. “I suppose he sees.”  
  
She smiled. “Are you jealous, vhenan?”  
  
“No,” Solas said, but it escaped him too quickly.  
  
“Abelas offers his knowledge freely to those willing to learn,” she said. “All that we were is gone, but when he is with us all that we are remains.”  
  
“In another world,” Solas began.  
  
“In another world I would still have been like him or worse,” she replied. “Born a slave. Among the Dalish, I was able to decide my own fate. I may have taken my freedom for granted. My culture may have been a patchwork shadow of misremembered legends but, vhenan, I was free.” Her thumb moved across the back of his hand. “Free to choose. Free to live. Free to be. The world you would return us to would see me bound in chains, beloved. Is that what you want?”  
  
“No,” he whispered. “No, vhenan, it is not.”  
  
“In this world, there are thousands more not so lucky and I will continue to fight for them.” She closed her eyes, her hands pressing down on his, filling him with warmth. The burn of the foci on her hand, tingling on his skin. “It’s time for you to decide, ma sa’lath. You can stay and cling to a burned down ruin or you can come with me and attempt to build something better.”  
  
He stared at her, his hands tightened against her cheeks and dug into her skin. “You don’t understand, vhenan. By my own hands, I destroyed Arlathan! Where our people are, all they suffer, it is my fault!”  
  
“It’s a daydream, Solas. The Arlathan you want will never come back. Never.” She leaned against him, until their foreheads touched. “Right now, what is here between us, this is real.”  
  
“Vhenan,” he whispered. “You cannot know…”  
  
“Let it go.”  
  
“I _can’t!_ ” The words escaped him in an anguished cry. “Please, vhenan.”  
  
“Banal nadas,” she whispered. “Hear my cry, Solas. Ar dirthan’as ir elgara, ma’sula e’var vhenan.”  
  
 _I am speaking to you from a place of great spirit, with the heart and song of our people._ His people. Her people. Solas drew in another shuddering breath. “Why?” he whispered. “Why won’t you let me go?”  
  
“Because ma vhenan’ara,” she said, “for all you have done and all you will do yet, I believe in your dream. I believe in you.” A playful smile curved her lips. “Just not how you’re trying to do it.”  
  
He clutched her hands, pressing his forehead against hers until their noses rubbed. “Vhenan,” he breathed. An endearment, a prayer, it hardly mattered. A new emotion bubbled inside of him, struggling out from within his dry and withered center. His lips brushed her mouth. His hands slid down her neck until his arms wrapped around her center and pulled her tight against his body. Inside, a feeling strained and struggled, a yearning he did not deserve to feel. “We… it is not right. From the very beginning, I sought to use you… I lied… No matter what you know now…” he trailed off.  
  
“Solas,” she sighed. “It’s not like there haven’t been clues.”  
  
“I…”  
  
“You really must think we’re all slow.” Eirwen lifted an eyebrow. “For one thing, there’s what you said in the Temple to Morrigan. She’s got the voices in her head now and I was curious on which legend was true. You get finicky every time we’re near a wolf shrine. Then, there’s all those ancient artifacts we started up together to strengthen the Veil. And just now you said you destroyed Arlathan with your own two hands? After you left, we recovered pieces of the orb. Abelas told us a little of what they were meant for. Dagna put together the rest. Between those two and Morrigan’s knowledge from the Well, you couldn’t have expected to keep the secret forever.”  
  
He winced.  
  
“We may not know everything,” she continued. “It may not even be very much, but it is enough. You are free to tell me the rest.”  
  
Solas exhaled slowly. His eyes lingering on the planes of her face. What was this strange feeling?  
  
 _It is called hope, dear boy._  
  
“You don’t have to walk this path alone.”  
  
 _Look at her closely. What do you see?_  
  
He looked down. Eirwen burned in his arms, within her fragile mortal frame a fire shone brighter than any star, brighter than the spirit of Faith masquerading as Justinia. _No,_ he realized. _Not mortal._ She was still tied to the physical world and, now, she was tied to the Fade, a bridge between both. He had not seen a light like this since…  
  
“Ma vhenan,” he whispered.  
  
Her fingers brushed his cheeks. “Ar lasa mala revas, Fen’harel,” she said. Standing tiptoe, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You are free.”

  


 

  


Author’s Notes:  
I spent a lot of time thinking about what my Lavellan would say to Solas when she finally found him. I ended up listening to the soundtrack of Prince of Egypt (“Through Heaven’s Eyes, “Deliver Us” “All I Ever Wanted”, Hunchback of Notre Dame (“God Help the Outcasts”), and several other Disney and Dreamworks movies (Anastasia, Tarzan, Hercules, Pocahontas), about two people from different worlds. Some of those songs represented Abelas x Lavellan better, but ultimately the general gist was the same. I wanted all their stories to end on a note of hope because the main game left me feeling incomplete and I have no idea if DLC will ever address it. The way Solas leaves Lavellan at the end is incredibly cruel, though perhaps unintentionally so. He constantly makes moves that are best for him. He leaves without telling her the truth and I've always thought it was more out of fear over what would happen when he finally came clean. He didn't want her to try and stop him, I think, because if she did he might not go through with it.  
  
Arlathan reminds me of the Holy Grail and Solas is Indiana Jones stretching out his fingers trying to grasp it. With no one to pull him back, he will inevitably fall to certain death. Eventually, you just have to let it go. The prize is not what’s important, it’s the message. He may not see them as his, but the people remain and a better world awaits. For me, the Solavellan relationship parallels Andraste’s relationship with the Maker but also the Jesus relationship with his disciples. Solas is the fallen sinner carrying the burden of a world he destroyed and Lavellan is the Messiah waiting to lead him back into the light before he destroys yet another one. The line from the plagues “all the innocents who suffer from your stubbornness and pride” fits him well.  
  
Solas sees a romanced Lavellan as like him. She’s real, that means everyone could be. What he fails to see because in his time he was an aristocrat, a powerful magi, and a god is that she has more in common with Abelas than she does with him. In his time, she would more than likely have been a slave. Living in the woods with the Dalish was probably a better life for her.  
  
Abelas x Lavellan is my crack ship, I've shipped it even before she had the option to tell him off at the Well of Sorrows. The Dalish and the surviving Ancient elves have a great many parallels which are too intriguing to ignore (though possibly entirely accidental.) They both look down on the other elves, they both see themselves as the one true version, and they have both clung as tightly to the past as they could manage. I feel Abelas and Lavellan would have a lot more in common on reflection than they do on first glance. He has the opportunity to be everything her relationship with Solas wasn't and everything Solas might have wanted it to be if things were different. A relationship built on honesty with information shared freely between the two parties. I like the idea of at least one ancient character, especially one with so much left to offer than Mythal and Fen'harel, turning around and refusing to abandon the world just because it's a broken husk of what it once was. I like the idea of a character extending his hand out with the offer to pull the others forward, even if he doesn't succeed. This is why Abelas has a different relationship with Sera than Solas. Sera is sharp enough to know Solas is lying to her, Solas tries to get her to think but he also tells her how to be without explaining why she should want to be that way. If Abelas approaches her honestly, he has a better chance of reaching her even if the message he brings is not one she wants to hear. Ultimately, I see Lavellan x Abelas as being similar to Neroon and Delenn from Babylon 5. They start out as enemies with different views of how their people should be, but unite together under a singular vision. They could have been more than just partners but were denied by Sheridan, the one Delenn is destined to be with. In the end, Neroon sides with Delenn because he sees her as the only one capable of taking their people off the course of self-destruction. Abelas and Lavellan aren't a passionate couple for me, they are two people united by a shared desire to save their people and in that desire they find common ground despite all their differences.  
Regardless of whether or not they are actually touched by the Maker or any god, the Inquisitor is a Jesus figure. They are the Messiah. They are both painfully human/fantasy equivalent and more than human. They belong to no one except those who believe in them.  
  
I wanted to write story where Lavellan successfully manages to pull Solas back from the brink. I doubt they’ll get that ending in any future Bioware games because you’re never really given the opportunity to debate with characters. He needs someone to debate with instead of being allowed to dictate.  
The elven woman Solas chases is my Lavellan's mother, whom she mentions in a different fic. There was going to be more with her in this fic, but it became superfluous. They are both chasing a beloved they abandoned and remain too afraid to get close to. 

Most of these translations were pulled from the Bioware forums, the Dragon Age wiki and this awesome write up by MoWrites on Archive of Our Own. http://archiveofourown.org/works/2719730  
Banal nadas – nothing is inevitable  
Ar dirthan’as ir elgara, ma’sula e’var vhenan – I am speaking to you from a place of great spirit, with the heart and song of our people (the same words he says to Sera)  
Durgen’len – child of the stone, the original elven word for dwarf  
Ma sa’lath – my one love  
Ma vhenan’ara – my heart’s desire  
Elvish for Skyhold -Tarasyl'an te'las.  
Well of Sorrows - Vir'abelasan


End file.
